This is a short chapter of mostly character building for Madge. I have most of this story and a follow up one planned through the events of both books, so this will be a slow build, longer-in-length work. Thank you to everyone for your comments and support since publishing the first two chapters!

I felt relief walking into my house, seeing the recap of the bloodbath on the screen and Katniss safe in the forest... as safe as she could be in the arena. I stopped in the doorway, watching for a quiet moment when I felt a hand on my shoulder and I jumped in surprise, whipping around to see my father standing behind me.

"Oh! You startled me, father," I say, a sheepish grin as my cheeks flush and my heart rate thuds in my chest.

My father is a tall man, though not nearly as tall as Gale, with a thicker build than most in the district. I attribute that to the years of eating without worry and banquets with Capitol officials. He was balding but refused to remove what was left of the spare hairs. His blue eyes were striking, though softer in tone like my own.

"I thought I heard you down here," he smiles, nodding toward the television behind me. "She's your friend, the girl with the strawberries?"

"Yeah, she is," I confirm, my blonde curls brushing over my shoulder as I glance back at the screen too.

"She's caused quite the chatter in the Capitol, volunteering for her sister and all," he says, his voice casual as he pulls out a white ceramic mug, beginning to make tea.

"I'm sure she must hate the attention" I respond quietly, and he chuckles to himself.

"Yes, but that attention will keep her alive," he raises an eyebrow in my direction and I nod softly in agreement. "She's very skilled, but the donations that attention brings in will give her the advantage that she needs."

I knew he was right. "I heard that the people in the Hob have started a donation pot for her," I mention as my father finishes making the tea.

"As he walks past, he gives me a wink. "I know, I gave the first donation," he whispers before disappearing up the stairs. "Get some rest, Madge"

My father was always hard for me to read, but I suppose it had to be that way. Being an official in Panem meant walking a thin line to avoid retaliation for even the smallest offenses, though it seemed to be more relaxed here in Twelve. My father kept to himself mostly, but occasionally would surprise me like the day he began purchasing strawberries from the crafty Seam girl.

I sighed as I turned off the lights in the sitting room, the dim flicker from the broadcast now focused on the unnaturally colorful Caesar Flickerman and his cohost. I turned it off, effectively silencing the speculation that I wanted to avoid. For as long as I had memories, each year we hosted the victors and their entourage on the Victory Tour and each year I was appalled and amused by the gaudy appearance of the Capitolites. The ways in which they willingly mutilated their bodies in the name of "beauty" was something I could never understand, though I had become quite skilled at maintaining a neutral expression while observing them. My father was careful with the manner in which he handled the Capitol guests; any inkling of disrespect or discord would mean automatic demotion or worse. Though he never explicitly told me this, I knew I played a part in that and I did my best to stay within boundaries I set for myself.

As I walked into the bathroom, I saw my reflection in the small metal-framed mirror that hung above our sink. The bridge of my nose and cheeks were tinted a light pink; no doubt from sitting in the sun longer than my fair skin was used to. I could see the faint freckles developing and I thought back to my childhood with my freckled nose and blonde waves that my mother tried to keep contained with pretty ribbons. I always managed to pull them out, my long hair falling lose much to her dismay. There were shadows under my eyes—they were still bright though tired.

I sighed, combing through my blonde locks and brushing my teeth before retreating to my bedroom. Maybe sleep would find me tonight... or so I could hope.

Before I had fallen asleep the night before, I could not help but think of my father strolling into the Hob. Everyone knew what went on in there, but the district officials turned a blind eye. Many of them benefitted from it anyway, like the group of Peacekeepers that frequented it for lunch. It was harmless really, just people trying to support themselves and their families. But to imagine the Mayor walking in for nothing more than to show support for one of their own, it stirred something in my mind though I couldn't quite place what it was.

I was always awake before the rest of my family, and this morning I decided to walk through town as the sun rose and the dew was still slick on the uneven cobblestone streets. My father wasn't keen on my habit of taking off for walks, but he long ago ceased to mention it as I got older.

I saw a warm glow coming from a few storefronts, one that I immediately recognized as the bakery. I felt a pang of guilt that I had not thought of Peeta much at all throughout this, even though he was very much in the same situation as Katniss. Probably worse off, if I was honest with myself. Katniss had an instinct for self-preservation that came only from the circumstances that she dealt with for most of her life. Peeta had been sheltered as a merchant's son, much like myself. Peeta and I would probably fair the same in the arena, I thought. How could I defend myself, with deadly piano keys?

I thought of the sweet baker's boy, and how he had always been nothing but kind to me when we crossed paths. It was hard to imagine someone with his gentle disposition in an environment such as the arena, though I supposed that survival could bring certain things out in people. And I recalled his confession during his interview with Caesar, how he had been in love with Katniss since boyhood. I believed him, the pain in his eyes was too real to be a ploy for sympathy.

I sighed, trying to imagine what his family must be going through before my feet made the decision my mind was mulling over. I pushed open the bakery door and a small chime sounded as it swung open enough for me to slip through. Most of the merchants lived above their businesses which I guessed made the line between home and work blur more than the children would have liked.

I offered a good morning, choosing a few loaves that I knew my parents enjoyed. As the blonde boy placed the bread into a paper bag, I slid the money across the counter.

His eyes wide as he saw the extra coins I laid down, but I kept my face neutral. "Oh, I think..." he started but I shook my head to cut him off. =

"No, that's the right amount," I said, before gathering my things and leaving, noticing the small smile on the boy's lips. I didn't need the extra coins, I had decided. I would never need as much as had been afforded to my family.